


My Angel is the Centrefold

by RefrainGirl



Series: Be My Ineffable Valentine [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: #ineffablevalentines, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale and Crowley in Love (Good Omens), Aziraphale is "just enough of a bastard to be worth knowing" (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Comforting Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cross-Posted on Tumblr, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), Don’t copy to another site, Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Insecure Crowley (Good Omens), Jealous Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Paranoid Crowley (Good Omens), Pinups, Post-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens), just the whole spectrum of Crowley's poor emotional state
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:08:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22605226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RefrainGirl/pseuds/RefrainGirl
Summary: Day 7 of the Ineffable Valentines collection.But Crowley’s eyes immediately narrowed as he inspected what was sitting in his hands. There was a faded photograph of a handsome man on what looked like an old pin-up calendar. Bold blue eyes stared out from a sexy smolder as he draped himself sensually along the length of a picnic table. The emphasis was on his chest area, which was probably why each muscle shone as if he had been rubbed down with gallons of baby oil. Last but not least, he was wearing absolutely nothing save for his boxer briefs.Why was this in Aziraphale’s bookshop?After getting dragged into cleaning up the bookshop, Crowley is shocked when Aziraphale discovers an old calendar filled with half-naked men. It makes the demon question whether or not he is actually good enough for his angel and, of course, he is severely off base. Aziraphale's quiet and understanding patience will have to show him the truth.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Be My Ineffable Valentine [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1619938
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206
Collections: Ineffable Valentines 2020





	My Angel is the Centrefold

**Author's Note:**

> I did it again, folks. More angst for the Valentine's Day prompts. Yes, I know, but this idea just burned its way out of me!
> 
> I do hope you enjoy reading!

Crowley had gotten himself roped into an impromptu spring cleaning session, and he wasn’t exactly sure how it happened. He had stepped into the shop per the usual, planning to say hi to his angel and then nap on the couch for the better half of the day. But instead Aziraphale had distractedly handed him a few books with the order to ‘shelve those in the far corner, please’ as he bustled past. Knowing better than to toss them down and say ‘no thanks’, Crowley did as he was asked.

He had been on his way towards the couch a second time when Aziraphale had handed him a brand new stack, even higher than the last one, saying that these needed to be put back in order, if he wouldn’t mind. Crowley sort of did, but when the angel was in this kind of organizational mode it wasn’t a good idea to distract him from it. The last time he’d gotten in the way of his cleaning, Aziraphale had made him dust every single inch of the place, and it had been worse than he could have ever predicted. The dust in the shop was ancient, and it lurked in every crevice of every surface. Even the pages inside certain books needed to be wiped down. They must have been left open for a while when the angel was doing research with them. That was the only explanation for the amount of dust Crowley had found there.

He was never, _ever_ doing that again if he had anything to say about it.

“Can I ask why we’re doing this, angel?” Crowley turned his head to glance over his shoulder, seeing nothing but the back of a waistcoat and a head of curly blonde hair. “D’you feel a random need to reorganize or something?”

A book snapped loudly shut, and he heard Aziraphale huff. Uh oh. Red flag alert. Something was up.

“A customer told me today that my shop smelled musty. Musty! Can you believe the audacity of that man!? He suggested that I call someone to ‘deal with this health hazard’ before he did it himself, but I’ll do no such thing! He obviously doesn’t recognize nor appreciate the smell of books that have been out of circulation for ages, so why should I do as he wishes?”

Great, some knucklehead was stupid enough to say just the wrong thing to rile him up.

Crowley winced, returning his focus to the bookshelf. It wasn’t a frequent occurrence, thank Someone, but whenever this situation did take hold, it was up to him to fix things somehow. Left unchecked, Aziraphale’s wrath could inflict vast misfortune onto the people of London; and if Crowley thought that _he_ was a force to be reckoned with when upset, well… his angel definitely had him outmatched.

For someone who was so nice and so incredibly polite, Aziraphale had a devil of a temper when pushed to his limits. That was not an exaggeration, not remotely. Crowley tended to be explosive and even a little destructive with his rage, and that was bad enough. But the angel’s cold, calculating fury was terrifying to behold. He picked away at the tiniest insignificant things that he could find while wearing a perfectly amicable smile. Most people didn’t notice what he had done until it was too late.

Last year, he’d made it so that the customer who had literally torn an excerpt straight out of one of his books couldn’t write _or_ speak any other word in the English language other than ‘the’. He’d been forced to become fluent in French just to communicate. And sometimes what he did wasn’t even noticeable, like how he had turned another rude book critic mildly lactose intolerant. Served him right for saying that Aziraphale’s books were ‘junky, clunky and useless’.

Crowley could never hide his astonishment whenever he did things like that. The angel was constantly impressing him with how much bastardry he kept in check under all of his holiness. Yet, as awe-inspiring as it was, no human wanted to be on the receiving end of Aziraphale when he was well and truly pissed. Really, what Crowley was doing was saving the ignorant masses from a world of pain that they absolutely did not want to experience. He wasn’t gonna gallop to the rescue of the arseholes who had asked for it, obviously, but he had to do something for all the other unsuspecting humans that wandered nearby. No more casualties than necessary, right? He was a bloody unnamed hero. No songs would be sung in Crowley’s honor, but he sure felt like he deserved it.

“Would that happen to be the guy with the, uh… ‘tattoo’ on his neck?” He scratched at his chin, listening to the heavy stomping steps of his angel as he tried to recall what it looked like. All he could remember right now was that it was shoddily done. “If you can even call it a tattoo. I’ve seen five-year-olds draw better than that.”

Aziraphale snorted with dry amusement. “It was rather tasteless, wasn’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” he scoffed, brightening as the image of a rotting zombie skull finally came into his mind. “Not even a demon in Hell would want something like that plastered on them for eternity. At least I wouldn’t.”

One quiet snap later, the man had gotten both of his feet run over by a trolley of meat heading for the butcher. His howls of pain carried up the street, and Crowley grinned to hear it. That was music to his ears. Nobody insulted his angel - or his things - and got away with it.

Whistling a pleasing tune, he went back to sorting books. “I bet he got that done when he was a kid. He’s gonna have to live with it for the rest of his life, unless he gets it lasered off.”

“Oh, believe me, that tattoo will never come off,” the angel stated, and not for the first time Crowley gave him one of his more incredulous, adoring looks.

“Did you really…?”

There was the tiniest amount of guilt in his voice, but not enough to warrant him going back on his miracle. “What of it? He irked me, and disparaged both my books and my shop! Besides, he doesn’t seem to dislike the image, for strange reasons that are beyond my understanding. It’s more than likely that he will never realize what I’ve done.”

This was the angel that he was in love with, alright. Crowley felt himself swoon, leaning on the side of another shelf as he grinned over at him. “Angel, you are a bastard after my own heart,” he said, and Aziraphale blinked over at him with a too-sweet smile.

“There are things one simply should not say, that’s all.”

The two of them went back to work for a while, but Crowley could still feel that they weren’t quite out of the woods yet, so he tried to think of a way to cheer the angel up. “The guy was probably just pissy that you didn’t let him buy anything,” he said after a moment. Sticking his tongue out in concentration, he stood on tip-toe to place a book in its designated spot. “You know how conceited humans can be. Most of the time you get a ton of rich book collectors in here, so I bet he was taking a jab at you.”

Aziraphale grumbled quietly behind him, and Crowley couldn’t stop himself from smiling fondly despite the situation. “Your favorite tactic of hiking the price doesn’t work with those types. Money’s no object to them.”

“I do realize that.”

Crowley chuckled, holding up his hands at the icy tone. “Okay, easy there. We’re just talking, angel. No need to unsheathe the flaming sword, eh?”

At last he heard a soft sigh escape his lips, and with it felt the tension in the room lessen considerably. “I don’t have my sword anymore, Crowley,” he said, although it seemed like he understood the real meaning behind his words as well. “I’m sorry, dearest. I didn’t mean to snap at you. That man’s comment was… ah, yes, his words got under my skin, as you might say.”

“Uh, I don’t say things like that,” he corrected him, cringing at the very idea. “Definitely not. Stuff doesn’t get under my skin. I cannot abide talking like that out loud. Can’t even stand hearing it in my brain.”

“So wahoo is fine, but not anything else?”

Crowley blushed, waving an erratic hand in Aziraphale’s general direction. “You shut up! That - that is totally not the same thing! That was a thing that happened in the 70’s and it is never repeating itself again, ever! Not ever, angel!”

“I’m sure it won’t,” he replied, tongue in cheek.

And, wouldn’t you know it, just because he said that, Crowley ended up saying it moments later before glaring over at a smirking Aziraphale.

Accident, it was a bloody accident.

* * *

It took quite a few hours for Aziraphale to feel satisfied with the appearance of his bookshelves, and by the end of it Crowley’s hands were seriously aching from the amount of movement he had put them through. On, off. Up, down. Over there, no wait over there. It didn’t make his work any easier when he was hefting massively thick novels that looked like they were more suited to being used as paperweights than for reading. He was pretty sure this is where carpal tunnel syndrome originally came from. Again, he thanked Someone that he wasn’t human enough to fall victim to such things.

“There, finally I’m done,” he exclaimed, wiping his hands of the ordeal with a weary sigh. “Ugh. It’s astounding to me that you do this on a regular basis, and even more astounding that you consider it fun, angel.”

But before Crowley could decide to gripe about it any further, he heard an astonished gasp from behind him. “Oh my word! Well, if it isn’t… I didn’t expect to see this again.”

“What? What did you find? Something cool?”

The demon twirled on his heel, his book organizing complaint promptly forgotten as he slid over to Aziraphale and leaned his chin on his shoulder. It was an old habit, and a comfortable one. The shoulder was his favorite place to perch when his head felt heavy, or tired, or if he just wanted an excuse to nuzzle his angel’s neck.

But Crowley’s eyes immediately narrowed as he inspected what was sitting in his hands. There was a faded photograph of a handsome man on what looked like an old pin-up calendar. Bold blue eyes stared out from a sexy smolder as he draped himself sensually along the length of a picnic table. The emphasis was on his chest area, which was probably why each muscle shone as if he had been rubbed down with gallons of baby oil. Last but not least, he was wearing absolutely nothing save for his boxer briefs.

Why was _this_ in Aziraphale’s bookshop?

“Huh,” Crowley mumbled, feeling a twist of something agonizing in his breast as he peered at the date. “1977? Why would you wanna keep this for so long?”

He didn’t get an answer right away, and a quick look at the angel’s face revealed the briefest hint of pink dusting his cheeks. “Oh, I don’t know. It seemed like a good idea to save it for the memories, so that’s what I did.”

“Memoriesssss?”

Shit, he could feel himself getting agitated already. Blood boiling in his veins, Crowley forcibly turned his head away, trying to gather his wits. He wanted to ask about it, he sorely wanted to understand the implications behind this calendar of half-naked men that had been lurking in the shelving since ‘77, but there was also some piece of him that was advising against it.

That was the 10-year anniversary of the tartan thermos. The 10-year anniversary of ‘you go too fast for me’.

Did he really want to dig that moat up again?

“Y’know what, ‘s not important.”

He was lying. It _was_ important, at least to him. But he didn’t want to pry into Aziraphale’s life and rip open the box that they had just finished taping shut. He’d been fairly distracted during the tail end of the 90’s, might’ve even been asleep, he couldn’t quite recall. There was a lot of room for things to happen within that kind of gap. Who was he to chastise his angel for looking elsewhere for comfort? It had probably been a lonely time for him, just as it had been for Crowley, and if keeping a calendar of men on hand had dulled the ache a little, then he’d be an arsehole for calling him out on it. It shouldn’t get to him. It really shouldn’t.

Perfectly natural, wasn’t it?

Before he could stop himself, he was snatching the calendar out of Aziraphale’s hands and flipping determinedly through the pages. Every single picture was of a man who possessed a build that Crowley could never have. Well, he could easily give it to himself if he wanted it, but bulging biceps and chiselled pecs just weren’t him. It wasn’t how he saw himself. And, as much as it made him hiss to think on it, he knew that it wouldn’t look that swell on him anyway. He was slim, gangly. Tall, long and lean. He was a fucking snake, not _this_ , could never _be_ this.

“Darling, are you sure you’re alright?”

_Does he prefer this kind of look…? Is… is this the kind of man Aziraphale really desires?_

Crowley barely felt it when the angel placed a cautious hand on his shoulder. He sounded concerned, or at least the demon thought he did through the fuddled fog of his brain. Maybe he was imagining it. Maybe he had been imagining all of it.

Aziraphale had a firm hold on both his shoulders now, and was attempting to steer him towards his armchair with every word. “Crowley, you’re looking terribly pale. You should sit down, I can carry on without you for a while. I’ve only a few more books to go.”

_Carry on… without me?_

Vaguely he realized that he was overreacting. There was no reason to be upset over something that was trapped so far in the past, but regardless it was still a challenge for him to hide the stinging pain in his voice when he spoke.

“I don’t want to sit.”

“It would do you some good, I think. Take a moment or two to relax, and I’ll carry on - ”

There it was again, he could hear it already. _Without you._

Crowley felt his lip curl into a snarl, and he cut him off before he could finish. “Oh, can you now?” he spat, hating himself for how bitter he sounded. “Guess I should’ve known, huh? Go ahead, carry on, then. It was so easy for you to _carry on_ when I wasn’t there, so why should it be any different when I’m sitting here!?”

“What are you talking about? Honestly, what has you in such a snit this time?”

A snit? No, this wasn’t a snit. This was sheer unwillingness to accept the fact that his angel wanted something from him that he couldn’t give. Aziraphale wanted someone better than Crowley, a man that was more robust and striking and muscular…

The calendar crinkled under his vicious grip. He considered tearing out the pages one by one and burning them to ash, but he couldn’t. It didn’t belong to him, and he wasn’t about to do anything to make his angel like him even less than he already did.

_Why am I thinking like that!? He’s not like that at all! My angel would never…_

This wasn’t about Aziraphale, was it? Deep down he knew. This was about inferiority, irrationality and his unyielding paranoia. It was about not being good enough; about being alone, and being afraid of being alone; about losing someone that he could not afford to lose.

This was about all of his issues bubbling to the surface again, dealing with things that Crowley had thought he’d long since left for dead.

With a jerk, he tore himself away from the grip on his shoulders. “It’s not a ssssnit,” he hissed, shaking the calendar before tossing it onto the table. “It’s nothing, angel. Absolutely nothing.”

_Please, stay away. I’m not thinking clearly here._

Aziraphale examined the cover of the calendar for a while, only stopping to look over at Crowley once he was finished. He could feel himself shaking, he was so mad. Not just mad, but horrified that he had gotten so upset at his angel. He was paralyzed by so many fears, the main one being that Aziraphale didn’t actually like him, and that he had been blind to it all along.

The single fear that was even more pronounced was that he would turn out to be wrong about everything after all, and Aziraphale would still leave him because of how he was acting now. Like a crazy, insecure demon that had no one else to turn to.

_It’s not an act, either. It’s just what I am… Unforgivable, unlikable, unstable…_

Crossing his arms, Crowley stuffed everything back inside and stared at anything else other than the angel. He wasn’t going to break down in front of him, no way. He had been good at holding himself together once upon a time, and he was pretty sure he could still do it now if he focused.

Realization gradually dawned in Aziraphale’s eyes. “I see,” he whispered, reaching for the calendar and slowly picking it up. With a smile, he held it back out to Crowley. “I do believe you should take another look.”  
  
”I really don’t - ”

“Another, closer look. Please, dear?”  
  
Aziraphale was asking him in the nicest of ways, his eyes as serene as an undisturbed sapphire pool. They had a calming effect on him, they always did, and Crowley’s racing heart eased just a little. Just enough to help him think somewhat logically and fuck, he wanted so badly to refuse. He didn’t need to see any more idols that were of better stock than him, didn’t want to imagine what Aziraphale was suggesting by making him browse through it a second time. No, he’d gotten the memo, message received, loud and clear.

But the angel didn’t take it away. He patiently held his arms out, not showing any sign of giving in or backing out. They would stand there all day if they had to, Crowley knew.

His eyes narrowed on the calendar. “Rgh. Give it here,” he snapped, yanking it out of his hands with an annoyed growl. “Why’re you doing this to me, angel?”

“Because, quite frankly, you’ve misunderstood why I kept this,” he said, raising his eyebrows. He gestured towards the front cover. “Do me a favor, if you don’t mind, and flip to February?”

“What’s on February? Your favorite stud?” he asked scathingly.

Aziraphale simply rolled his eyes. “You’ll find out once to turn to that page, won’t you?”

Hesitantly Crowley followed his instructions, opening up to the month of February with a sinking feeling of dread in his heart. He didn’t want to see this, why did he have to…

As soon as his eyes fell on the page, his brain stopped working. Crowley blinked. He held the calendar directly in front of his face and peered at the picture. He turned it sideways, right, left, turned it back upright again.

“This…!” He couldn’t form the sentences in his mind, but they came pouring out of his mouth anyway. “I… Why did I never see this!? You have to explain! Okay, you don’t _have_ to, but I mean… Ugh, please just tell me what this is!”

Aziraphale gave him a wistful look. “I was hoping to give the calendar to you next I saw you,” he said, taking a step forwards. “They were all the rage at the time, and I know how obsessed you are with keeping your style up to date, so I thought it might be something you wouldn’t mind having around your flat. The idea was that when I gave it to you, you would see February’s picture and think of me. But then you didn’t come round again, and I just… well, I held onto it. Eventually it must have gotten mixed up among all of my other books. I always meant to search for it, but I’ve been so caught up in other affairs.”

Crowley shook his head in disbelief, letting the fold of the calendar fall open more fully. “You… you went and did all this?” he asked in a tiny voice. “Angel, there had to be thousands of these printed out! All the time and money you put in… You didn’t have to exert yourself! Not for me!”

“I’m afraid I didn’t,” Aziraphale admitted with an awkward smile. “I told the photographer to leave production and distribution to me, but I never followed through with it. Since I had already paid him, he was content enough to let it slide, thinking it was my loss.”

“You went and posed for a pin-up calendar and botched its sales… for me?”

“Actually, I decided not to do a full printing out of inhibition.”

He sighed, clasping his hands together in front of him. A nervous tick that Crowley was all too familiar with. “It was the first time I had ever found the courage to pursue such a thing, and I wasn’t sure how well I had done compared to everyone else. I didn’t want to shortchange anyone, I hadn’t planned on it! I just felt that, after everything was said and done… I wasn’t even sure if you would like what you saw…”

Crowley couldn’t believe what he was hearing from those perfect lips. His eyes darted up to stare in utter shock. “Are you kidding me, Aziraphale!? I always like what I see when I look at you, no matter what you’re doing or wearing, or not wearing! This ‘s no different!”

Why would he ever doubt that Crowley would like his photo? He couldn’t stop admiring the damn thing! It was gorgeous beyond anything he had ever seen, outclassing Eden itself - and that had been a veritable paradise.

Since it was February, he had chosen to pose as Cupid, dressed in a loose-fitting robe that was just long enough to cover his hips, and the upper half had been adjusted to reveal a generous portion of his upper torso. One of the shoulders had slipped off, hanging seductively off of his bicep as he held up a small bow, the string pulled back as if he were primed to shoot. His leg was lifted up, and a bright smile shone across his face. But the best part was the wings.

Aziraphale wasn’t wearing some cheap plastic replica of Cupid wings. His own angelic feathers were spread wide and on display, gleaming in the light of the shot.

“It seems so silly now,” he continued in an anxious ramble, “but back then I was more than a little desperate. I didn’t want you to risk your life over something so dangerous, thus the reason behind giving you the thermos, but… I’d always feared that one day I might call and never get an answer. I thought that having a physical reminder of me might sway you towards not using the holy water, and for the first few years after I made this calendar I was frantically trying to send it to you. If I’m being honest, the worrying never stopped.”

Crowley frowned a little. The force of his guilt was hitting him harder now that he had the whole story. “Angel, ’s not silly at all. It’s beautiful, you’re beautiful. You always are, and always will be. I’m sorry that you went and did all this for me, only for me to go and waste your efforts.” He sighed, closing the calendar and hugging it close against his heart. “Sorry. I’m sorry for not coming to see you after the holy water thing too, and for being so… so stupid just now. I’m sorry for everything.”

Aziraphale’s smile wobbled. “Dearest, never you mind that,” he cooed, stepping over to pull Crowley into his arms. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, myself. What matters is that you’ve seen it. I’ve always wanted you to have it.”

Crowley relaxed into his hold, letting out a soft sigh. “You don’t want it back?”

“No. It belongs with you.”

“Good. ‘Cause this calendar is never leaving my bedroom, and it’s going to be February for the rest of my life.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come and say hi on Tumblr!
> 
> You can find me at my main blog [@refraingirl](https://refraingirl.tumblr.com/) or at my writing blog [@refraingirl-the-writer](https://refraingirl-the-writer.tumblr.com/)!


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